


Twin Skeletons

by cybergirl614



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Broken Dean, Codependence, Dean Being an Asshole, Dean Needs Castiel, Dean and Mental Health Issues, Dean is Missing, Drama, Drunk Dean, Emotional Manipulation, Explicit Language, Flashbacks, Grief, Heavy Angst, Human Castiel, Kind of dark, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Nightmares, Overprotective Castiel, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Protective Castiel, Sad, Sam Winchester Dies, Self-Loathing, Suicidal Intent, Tags Contain Spoilers, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Work In Progress, it might get better, it's all very twisted after all, relationships, survivor's guilt, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-21 01:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4809695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cybergirl614/pseuds/cybergirl614
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam dies, Dean loses everything except for Castiel, who struggles to hold them both together as Dean unravels in his grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Twin Skeletons (Hotel in New York City)](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/144983) by Fall Out Boy. 



> Trigger warning: this story contains protracted discussion of mental health issues and suicidal ideation, among other potentially disturbing and/or triggering topics. Please proceed with this in mind.
> 
>  
> 
> This is inspired by a song, Twin Skeletons by Fall Out Boy. Under the 'inspired by' header, the song title is provided as a link if you wish to listen to it.

They had checked into the tired old motel, exhaustion settled deep in their bones. They weren’t sure what to do. Nothing was as it had been, even hours before. So they had come limping away. Limping, the Impala itself seemed to sputter in shame, her typical purr strangely subdued when it would have normally rang out in Dean’s ears, filling him with the joy of the open road. But not today. No, today he had just wanted to stop. He might have eaten a bullet, to be honest, if it wasn’t for Cas right beside him. Cas had stood beside him helpless and human, until he finally pulled him away, when Sam had breathed his last, when he had lain in his own blood, gasping for air that just wouldn’t come. Dean had pounded on his brother’s chest, demanded of Cas to _do something, goddamnit! What use is an angel without his fucking powers?!_

And it had been Cas who had pulled Dean away while he shouted. It was Cas who had lit the pyre, and Cas who had egged Dean into getting in the car and just going. _Go,_ he’d said. The bunker lay in ruins. There was nothing for them there. _Go, and we’ll….do something, Dean. You have to keep going, Dean. I’m so sorry. But we have to keep going. Sam—he would want that._

So that was how they’d wound up here, in this miserable motel room. Dean was hunched up on the bed, staring at his feet, which were still in his shoes.

Cas came to sit beside him when he finished getting the weapons out of the car. Dean began to shrink away, but Cas’ hands on his arm stopped him, gently bringing him to his shoulder.

“Shh. Dean. I know. I…I know…” Cas had murmured, his voice breaking as he whispered things into Dean’s hair as Dean came undone entirely, burying his face against Cas’ chest. Then he was sobbing into his shoulder, mumbling memories and regrets that all ran together, and barely made any more sense to him than they must have to Cas.

“I can’t do it, Cas. I can’t….” He knew he couldn’t. But what did it matter? Sam was gone. Sam, the brother he’d held and watched and taught to walk and taught to speak, had helped through homework, who he’d sang to, who he’d told stories to late at night when Sammy couldn’t sleep and dad was gone. Sam, who’d laughed at his goofy jokes, who’d shared beers and always had his back, who’d give anything to save him, who he’d gone through decades in Hell for all those years ago.…Sam. Sam was gone.

 

“I don't get the fucking point,” Dean blurted. “Coz yknow what? There isn’t one. This universe is full of shit and full of evil and we are never going to keep it back. Never. I’m fucking sick of it. I’m sick of living…”

“Oh Dean,” Cas rumbled, hugging him close.

“It doesn’t fucking matter what I do. Nobody’s left. Sam’s gone. Bobby’s gone. Dad’s gone. Charlie’s gone. Everybody I ever fucking cared about is dead. Because I didn’t do enough, because I didn’t fight hard enough, because I wasn’t good enough!” His voice rose to a hoarse yell at this, but Cas didn’t pull away, only holding him tighter as he shook in his arms. Dean’s fingers clenched, ripping at Cas’ shirt, digging into the skin. The next day, there would be bruises in the shape of fingernails but Castiel did not care. He cared about Dean, about the man he held whose world was so full of pain that his hands were forced to become claws, that his voice rose and fell in strangled sobs.

Although Dean wasn’t present enough to notice it, tears were streaming down Cas’ face too. He began to rock gently, pulling the human with him in the slow swaying movement. “I know. I—I’m here. I—I wish I could do something, I really do…” he murmured, his voice catching. “I wish I could, Dean. I really do.”

“Well what does it fucking matter? Nothing does, that’s what! I—I don’t wanna be here anymore, Cas. Nobody’d care. Nobody’d miss a fucking idiot like me—“

“No…” Cas blurted the strangled word as he gently pried Dean’s chin up, “Dean…” he managed, “You do matter. You matter to me. So much. You have no idea how much. I—I know this hurts. I know this pain. I’ve killed, Dean. I’ve killed my own brothers. I know guilt, I know this burden. I would do anything to help you from this, but I know I can’t. But please, please don’t think you wouldn't be missed. I would miss you more than the entirety of my Father’s creation.”

Cas rubbed his back, ran his hands gently over Dean’s shoulders, smoothing his hair that was soaked in sweat on the back of his neck, rocking slowly all the while. Cas listened to his inane ramblings that were made in a barely-there croak of a voice. Castiel hushed and reassured and held Dean until he was done, until Dean was so exhausted he was unable to move. Dean was curled in on himself, where Castiel had propped him up, passive and unmoving on the pillows at the headboard. Cas stretched him out on the bed, taking off his shoes and jacket when Dean had worked himself to the point of near-unconsciousness. Cas pulled the blankets up around him, mumbling something in his ear. Dean didn’t understand the words, he was already so numb, but if he’d been able to, he’d have heard the pain of profound understanding in them.

“Just hold on, Dean. Hold on, I promise you, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. I know I can’t fix this, but…just hold on. Please. Just get through the night for now.”

 

Castiel took the chair beside the bed, watching as long as he could until he couldn’t hold his head up. As he began to drift off, a terrifying thought occurred to him. Dean had talked about wanting to die. What could he do? He couldn’t fall asleep leaving Dean the means to easily achieve such an ends in the room.

 

He struggled to his feet, quietly taking the keys from the table where they lay.

He grabbed the duffle that contained their weapons and looked through the guns. He took out the shotgun and a container of what he knew by painful experience to be nonlethal salt rounds. The rest he zipped away in the duffle and went outside to lock it in the trunk of the impala. His old angel blade was in a sheath under his shirt, where he’d leave it. The key he stuffed in the back pocket of his pants, and took pillows and blankets from the other bed and lay down on the floor beside the bed Dean was on. If Dean tried to stand, he’d step on Cas.

Castiel slept fitfully, often awakening to low sounds of the motel around them. Dean didn’t move, though, although whether he was thankful or worried by that he couldn't quite say.  
They awoke to an unforgiving, cold sun that glared in the windows past the cheap thin curtains, as accusing as it was mocking.

Dean sat up stiffly, grogginess and heaviness sitting deep in his being.

“Cas…why are you on the floor?” He asked haltingly.

Castiel sat up, dread at the possibility Dean would still feel the same way mounting.

“I was concerned about you,” He mumbled.

“So you’re on the floor instead of the other bed?” Dean asked.

“Yes. I…I don’t know, do you remember? You were in bad shape last night, Dean.”

“Oh, oh shit,” Dean trailed off, sitting back. “I…said all that?”

“Yes.” Castiel said, standing from the floor. He sat on the other bed, facing Dean.

“Oh god…I’m sorry, Cas. I…” Dean’s expression twisted with the humiliation he should have felt bitterly. But there was only a vague stab. His thoughts raced with it but only halfheartedly. No, the worst was, those things were still true. He might not have said them in such a manner without the exhaustion from the previous day, but the weight of Cas having heard the outbursts and seen his vulnerability pressed at him. Cas…Cas had seen him like that. The idea that anyone had was enough but that Cas had? And the way he’d reacted? Not flinching away? Not telling him to suck it up? He’d stayed and watched and held him, and that just made it worse.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Cas shrugged. “Moving forward today is enough.”

“I—I don’t know how,” Dean managed the words.

“I don’t either,” Cas admitted. “But I’m not leaving you here to give up.”

“You’re not?” Dean echoed, the words hollow.

“No. I never would,” Cas said, frowning solemnly.

He never would? Dean’s breath caught in his throat. “Cas…” he shuddered, helplessness crashing down around him again, this time tempered by a resignation and rending sense at the realization he was not the only one he would take with him if he were to drag himself down this path. “Oh my god.”

“Dean. How many times have you been in jeopardy? Have I ever left you except when it was for your safety?”

“N—no,” Dean managed. “Except….Purgatory.”

“You have no idea how much that hurt me, “ Castiel said gravely. “Not being beside you. But Dean, I am not leaving now, not ever—“

“Cas? What’re you saying?” Dean blurted. The hurt in the former angel’s face made him regret it. Why did he drag everyone down with him?

Castiel shook himself, stopping cold. What was he even saying? That he felt much more than he had ever let on for the hunter? That he…. _loved_ ….him? He couldn’t say that now. It would have been callous to the utmost degree. Dean couldn’t handle it right now. He hadn’t even been sure if he could approach the hunter with this information when he wasn’t in this state, let alone, now. No. No, it was a good thing Dean had cut him off when he did. God, what had he been about to do to Dean?

“Perhaps we should start moving,” he murmured. “You should get dressed, we should eat, and get moving again.”

“And go where? We’ve got nothing, Cas. Absolutely nothing…”

“Perhaps not at the moment, but we will make something,” Castiel asked. “We will find somewhere to go. You have friends elsewhere. Other hunters?”

“Yeah…a few…” Dean managed. “But…” he shook his head, the memories of the times he’d been there flooding him. Sam. Sam had been there every time, the memories a nearly taunting presence in the face of the overwhelming loss he swam in. He sucked in a shuddering breath though his nose, and found Cas’ hand on his shoulder, holding on as if he was in danger of being blown away.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to blot out reality and blot out the pain. He wished for numbness, for drink, for death, for anything that would just make it go away. Instead he got Castiel’s arms around him, the firm but gentle pressure of Cas’ body against his. Just when breathing was feeling like too much effort, he could feel Castiel’s chest rising and falling against his, as if reminding him to keep breathing.

As humiliating as it had been recalling the way Cas had reacted the night before, now in the throes of it again, he couldn’t bring himself to care. The pain, the desperation outweighed any embarrassment until he found himself clinging back to Castiel, his breathing shuddering in and out.

There was no empty promise, no vague platitude, no pointless-to-nigh-infuriating, ”it will be alright.” No “you’re fine, Dean.” And no “suck it up.” He couldn’t speak right now, and Cas didn’t presume to either. His presence said what he didn’t need to. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. And as much as Dean would have normally instinctively run from it, insisted on his independence, he couldn’t run anymore. So he stayed. And Castiel stayed. He stayed that way until his breath quieted.

“We don’t have to go there,” Castiel said quietly after a few long minutes, by which point Dean had stilled and was no longer draped over his shoulder, instead sitting beside him awkwardly against the headboard where he’d migrated. “We can go anywhere you want to, Dean. How would you feel about just going?”

“Just going?” Dean mumbled dumbly. “I don’t…I don't know.”

“It’s fine.” Cas replied, giving him a slow sad smile. “Just…come with me, Dean. I mean, we can stay here awhile if you prefer, but I think it’s, it’s better if we keep moving.”

Dean didn’t know what he felt about that. He didn’t in fact, feel much of anything right now besides an emptiness that sucked the air out of the room, but he found the breath to nod and mumble a vaguely reluctant-sounding, “OK….”

“Thank you,” Cas breathed, nodding with a deeply earnest look in his eyes. His face was so close to Dean’s the hunter could feel the former angel’s breath on his check as he spoke. “So, Dean, let’s get going.”

Dean nodded, watching Cas stand up and fish in the back pocket of the jeans he still wore from the night before, producing the key to Impala. Wait, he’d had it all night? What did he think Dean was going to do? Didn’t he trust him at all?

“I’ll go see if we have any clothes in the trunk,” Castiel said as he pulled his shoes on to go outside. “Hopefully we do…”

“Yeah, sure…” Dean muttered under his breath, not really caring, all the more lost in just how strange Castiel had reacted. He’d hidden the key, and…

Dean looked around the room, wondering what else he’d done besides sleeping on the floor and hiding the key. He looked around and realized only the shotgun and salt bullets were anywhere to be found. Their customary duffle of weapons was nowhere to be seen. If…if they’d even had it. He wasn’t entirely sure if they’d brought it last night. But if they had that gun…that was the gun that stayed in the duffle in the impala ready to go. If they had that one, they had the duffle.

So why wasn’t it in the room? As he thought, it hit him. Castiel had really thought he was going to kill himself, and…shit, Dean thought, he didn’t just care. No, he was so terrified he had gone to sleep on the floor where Dean getting up would wake him.

Dean pressed a hand to his forehead as if he could squeeze some sense into himself. Cas…what had he done to Cas?

When Castiel returned empty-handed except for a ratty tshirt, Dean was standing near the door to meet him.

“Be..be straight with me, man,” Dean mumbled, his voice hoarse as it caught in his throat. “What’s going on?”

“What do you mean?” Castiel sounded somewhat taken aback as he paused, placing the tshirt on the foot of the bed.

“Last night. Why you slept on the floor, why you have the keys, where the hell the weapons are? Cas…what the fuck is going on?”

“I thought last night you were really going to kill yourself,” Castiel sighed. “And I cannot live with that, Dean. I truly cannot.”

“So you took what I could use…” Dean mused. “But Cas, I’m not, I don’t matter that much—“

“You are too important, Dean!” The former angel insisted, his fingers bracing around Dean’s chin when the hunter tried to look away.

“No, I am not,” Dean sputtered, anger flaring inside him. Why was Cas doing this? He looked at the former angel’s face and saw the unease of something hidden there. No, there was more…

“What else, Cas?” He demanded coldly.

“There’s nothing else. I was concerned—“

“Tell me! Or so help me, I will walk out of here and you will never see me again,” Dean said. He knew it was low, he knew it was cruel, but…he honestly didn’t care right now. He needed to know. He deserved the truth. After everything else he’d lost, he couldn’t deal with Cas hiding shit right now. Why couldn’t Cas just give him that right now? He _needed_ to know…

“Dean…please…” Cas looked heartbroken now, and uncertainty welled up inside Dean at the sight.

“Tell me,” he reiterated flatly, although inside he felt something breaking, but still the words came out, and Castiel seemed to actually physically tremble with effort at the moment.

He paused, looking like he was going to be ill. Dean was about to tell him to stop, when he finally spoke up, his voice barely a whisper. “Because, Dean, I love you.”

“Fuck.”

 

It hit Dean like a punch to the gut. He faltered backwards a step, the single croak of a word falling out of his mouth.

“Dean—“ Castiel blurted, his hands raised as if he was trying to fend off a charging bull.

“Just… _fuck,_ Cas!” Dean sputtered again.

Castiel wanted to hug him, hold him, comfort him however he was capable, but everything about the situation was just wrong. He had never really intended to tell Dean. He’d thought of it, certainly, but the more he considered it the more unwise it had seemed. And now, this.

“Please, Dean. I—it doesn’t have to change anything. I can ignore this. I understand you do not feel the same, I understand if this disgusts you—I—I’m so sorry, Dean.” Castiel blurted, an unbearable split of intention and desires gripping him. He could never act on any of them, he could never do anything about it, and now Dean, when he needed Castiel the most, had been betrayed by him with this horribly selfish outburst.

“How long, Cas?” Dean asked quietly. Reality seemed in stark relief again suddenly as he waited for the answer, uncertain whether shorter or longer was better. But did it matter? The damage was done…

“It—“ Cas faltered.

“How long?” He demanded.

“Ev-ever since I saw you in Hell,” Castiel whispered, shutting his eyes. “Forgive me, Dean. “

“Forgive you what?” Dean scoffed, and Castiel wanted nothing more now than to turn back time. If he had been an angel he could have brought Sam back. If he had still had his powers, he could have sedated Dean. If, if… But if’s meant nothing.

“I know—“

“What do you know?! That I’ve fucked you up too now?” Dean fairly shouted.

“No. Dean, it isn’t like that. This—this is not something that you did. It’s me.” Castiel replied, his head bowed.

“Really?” The word was hollow.

“Yes. This is me. And I—I do love you. I…I’m sorry.”

 

“Quit fucking apologizing,” Dean muttered.

“I just told you—“

“You’ve loved me for eight years. Fine. Then—then show me.” Dean said, his voice cracking on the last.

“You don’t mean that.” It was Castiel’s turn to be questioning now.

“Maybe I don’t, maybe I do…” Dean muttered. “It doesn’t matter…but…god. Just…if you really mean that…show me.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah… It…I—I need something real, Cas. Sh-show me.”

“I…alright…” Castiel murmured, stepping forwards to close the gap between them. His heart pounded in his throat, his head nearly throbbing with what had to be dangerously high blood pressure, anxiety making him purely dizzy.

He gently touched Dean’s cheek, the calluses on his hands ghosting over the cheekbones of the exhausted hunter in front of him. When Dean didn’t flinch away, standing there instead with his eyes closed, strangely peaceful-looking, he leaned in slowly, pausing inches from Dean’s face as he wrapped both hands delicately around Dean’s face. Realizing he had to act now or he would never, he pressed his lips to Dean’s. He didn’t do anything really, just paused there for a moment to gauge his reaction. Dean tensed, a shuddering breath gusting in through his nose. Castiel was about to break off, but then Dean had wrapped his arms around his shoulders, his fingers finding purchase on Castiel’s shoulders, gripping like it was for dear life.

Castiel couldn't believe it when Dean began to kiss back, sucking on his bottom lip tentatively before Cas began doing much the same, sucking and teasing at Dean’s top lip with his tongue.

Dean’s lips parted and Castiel’s tongue slid in, exploring the heat of Dean’s mouth. It was drier than it should have been, Dean not having drunk much the day before, and they both definitely had morning breath, but Castiel couldn’t have cared any less. Finally, finally something seemed to be happening besides causing or watching death and pain. For the one moment, Castiel could focus on something, really the only beautiful thing he had ever known. Dean, who wasn’t jerking away—he was holding on to Castiel tighter with each passing second, allowing him in, and exploring him too—they broke off for air gasping, but Dean still didn’t let go. His face rested in the crook of Castiel’s shoulder, and Cas realized, he was shaking.

“Shh, Dean. What—what do you say we get going? Get clothes, get toiletries, and hit the road?” Castiel offered again.

“OK,” Dean nodded, straightening up from where he’d been leaning on Castiel as he gathered himself. “If you think we should…”

Castiel only managed to offer him a sad smile as they made their way out the door to the Impala.


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel took the wheel, and for once, Dean did not protest someone else driving his beloved car. Seeing Cas take charge was strangely comforting, because it meant he, himself didn’t have to. He didn’t have to pretend to have things under control, and as far as that went, he couldn’t anymore. The illusion was gone, and Cas knew. Cas completely knew just how fucked up he was inside, and…as much as he should have been humiliated by that fact he was too exhausted to bother following that line of thinking. 

Instead he found himself staring out the window, wondering absently what would happen if he jumped out. Would he be with Sam again? If it was like the last time they’d both died at once, they had shared a Heaven. He shook himself, trying to pull back desperately because he knew the longer he dwelled, the harder time he would have not doing it. If he jumped out of the car now, he’d at the least break his legs and get horrible road rash if he didn’t properly die, so that would suck, and…Cas…could he really do that to Cas? 

He shook himself, pushing those thoughts from his mind. He had thought he was doing better this morning. He was wrong… He glanced over at Castiel, who oblivious to what was going on in Dean’s head, was driving them to the nearest department store where they could ostensibly find the badly-needed changes of clothing and things like toothpaste that had all been obliterated with the bunker.

 

Castiel must have seen Dean looking, maybe he had looked a little too long, because he glanced back at Dean. “Are you alright?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah, I’m great,” Dean replied flatly, the deadpan of his sarcasm not lost on the former angel, who frowned. 

“I hope that’s true again soon,” Castiel replied. 

In the store, Cas headed to get toiletries while Dean browsed clothing, picking up jeans, shirts and socks for him and Cas, when he stopped short. That it was fucking stupid was the second thought in his head after the initial shock of pain wore off. 

But there he was, staring senselessly at a stupid shirt on the rack that looked to be an exact duplicate of the one Sam had worn when he died. 

Then he was shaking, swearing under his breath as he turned away, angrily giving the cart he pushed an over-aggressive shove so that it clanked noisily against the next rack. But he didn’t care. He abandoned the cart where it had collided and nearly ran to the nearest bathroom, ducking past people young and old who gave him strange looks. The bathroom was one that mercifully, somehow, was some single-stall handicap accessible deal. 

He locked the door and buried his face in his hands as he slid down the back of the bathroom door he leaned against. He wasn’t doing this. He wasn’t in some random bathroom in a chain store, hyperventilating on the cold tile floor, because he saw some random shirt that reminded him of Sam. Sam, with his stupid shirt stained red from all the blood… 

But he looked up at his reflection in the full-length mirror across the little bathroom from him, and sure enough, fat tears were cascading down his face as he sat shivering. He clawed angrily at them with his knuckle as if they were the cause of his problems. Why couldn’t he just hold it in? Why did he have to do this? 

“Fuck. Fuck everything!” he growled to the blinking light on the automatic flusher on the toilet. 

Its persistence annoyed him, its insistence that time went on, that no one cared. Like it was laughing, like anyone who saw him would have. He was pathetic. He couldn’t even go in a fucking store. What was going on? 

He rolled to his feet, going to the sink. He wanted to scream, but couldn’t, even here. People would come, people would ask questions, people might call the authorities, and… Suddenly he realized just what Cas was putting up with him for. If he went in, and actually told them anything, he’d never get out voluntarily. If he never told them what he was there for, it was pointless, wasn’t it? No, normal human avenues of relief were closed to him, as usual.

Tension mounting, he acted impulsively without the ability to stop. He lashed out at the nearest item he couldn’t easily destroy; he punched the metal backsplash on the wall behind the sink, his knuckles knocking a small dent into the shiny chrome. Blood smeared it as he pulled his hand back to inspect the damage. 

Blood. He pressed his uninjured hand to his face as he struggled to fight off memories. Images of Sammy lying in his own blood flared in his mind’s eye as he squeezed the cut on his hand, trying to distract himself with pain. The memory faded back a little, as he examined it yet more. 

He turned on the faucet, splashing the cold water on his face and letting it sting the split in the skin on his knuckles. He focused in on that, focused on the pain, stared at the blood on the metal, which he rubbed at with the wet fingertips of his left hand while the cut right hand stayed under the faucet. He wiped away the blood, although he kept staring at the spot, contemplating absently just how easily it disappeared. Of course it did, it was just blood on a non-porous surface, but then, if blood disappeared so easily, why couldn’t other things? 

Just as he began to think he might be able to pull himself together enough to face the store again, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Swearing under his breath, he grabbed it with wet hands and checked the number.

It was a call from Sam’s phone. He swallowed hard, trying to keep from vomiting from the tension in his throat. 

He swiped to answer, his mind clouding over for a moment.

“Sam?” He asked, his voice shaking.

“Dean?” No, it was Cas on the other end, and he sounded….concerned. 

“Wh-what?” Dean replied in the closest thing to nonchalance he could manage. He sounded more dead tired than anything else. He struggled to not hyperventilate, struggled not to implode.

“Dean, it’s me. I had to use Sam’s phone because his was in the car and mine was in the bunker when it collapsed.” 

“Yeah, I knew that,” Dean muttered, although he wasn’t even fooling himself at this point. 

“I thought you were in the clothing area?” Cas asked. “I’m here now, you’re not.”

“I’m…in the bathroom,” Dean replied, unable to keep a hint of the exasperation he suddenly felt out of his voice. What, was Cas following him around now? 

“Oh. I’ll see you when you’re done, then,” Castiel said, and hung up. 

Dean stared at his reflection in the mirror for a long moment before he grabbed paper towels to wipe the water off his face. He blotted at the cut on his hand before sighing and going back out to the main area of the store.

He crossed towards the abandoned cart he’d left and Castiel, who was waiting near the jeans. 

“Hey,” Dean mumbled.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asked, and Dean found himself shaking his head slowly, even though he’d probably never answered that question honestly before in his life, the misery burning in his eyes and pinching in his throat all over again. 

“Do you need to go? We can do this later,” Cas said quickly, but Dean shook his head again.

“No. Let’s finish and….let’s just finish this,” Dean protested, to which Cas gave a silent nod. 

Castiel picked up a few changes of clothing for himself in a matter of minutes and then they were at the check out, getting their items rung up. Dean went to open his wallet to get out the credit card he had, since Cas had paid for the motel the night before, but he stopped short. He knew what he’d see when he opened it, the photo in the little laminated pocket, and he didn’t want to face that all over again. Heart racing, he handed his wallet to Cas without even speaking. 

Castiel took it, a look of concern on his face before Dean looked away while Cas paid and he just stood by, helping collect the bags passively before they retreated to the car. Once the items they’d purchased were in the trunk, Dean collapsed in the passenger’s seat, taking shaky breaths in as he struggled to hold it together. 

 

“Dean….” Cas murmured, getting in the driver’s side. But then he scooted closer across the bench seat until he was right beside Dean, his arms around him. 

“I’m here, I promise, I’m here…” He repeated the scant few words quietly, wrapping himself all around Dean while he shook in his arms. 

Why did it have to be Sam, Castiel wondered. He could have died himself without nearly so much pain for Dean, who would have still had his brother to take care of him. But without Sam, who was almost as much Dean’s child as his sibling, he was completely shattered.

So this was how Dean found himself in such a horribly vulnerable position, enveloped in the embrace of his long-time friend and savior, the former angel, Castiel in the front seat of his car. 

 

When Dean finally calmed down, Cas drove them back the motel room, where they showered and changed clothes before checking out.

“Where would you like to go, Dean?” Castiel asked when they sat in the front seat of the impala, nearly ready to leave except they had no idea where they were going.

Dean shrugged. “Does it matter?”

“Not really,” Castiel replied. “East. How does that sound?”

Dean shrugged again noncommittally. “Fine. I don’t care.”

“East it is,” Castiel replied, turning on the radio before he pulled the car into reverse to get out of their parking spot. They left the lot, going east according to the app on Cas’ phone. 

Cas had put in one of Dean’s favorite tapes, Metallica, which boomed out of the speakers. Castiel hummed along now and again to bits he recognized, hoping Dean would too, but if he took any comfort in the music, he gave no sign. He only stared out the, casting passing glances at Cas every so often. 

What Cas did not know was that Dean's mind was not looking at him with disdain or hatred that he could not save Sam. No Dean's mind was filled with thoughts of another sort. The actions of earlier were not easily forgotten.

That kiss and the physical reaction that it caused filled Dean's thoughts temporarily helping him to push away the waves of sorrow that wanted to drown him

 

The question of what to do about it, however, was not an easy one to answer.

A part of Dean wished to act according to the wishes of Cas and his own self.  
He found it all too easy at this point to be swept away in it, to escape mindlessly in the only way he could through the physical, but something nagged at him, uncertainties he’d faced his entire life resurfacing in that fact. 

The fact was Cas was decidedly male, and the fact he was a former angel just made it stranger somehow. 

They stopped at a diner around mid-morning, getting bacon, eggs, and coffee. Cas watched as Dean picked at his food, worry rising inside him as he wondered what he could get him to eat. 

An idea forming, he hailed the waitress and ordered cinnamon rolls. When they finally arrived, Dean looked just as withdrawn, although Cas pushed them towards Dean, sopping with icing on the plate. 

“Will you eat some of this?” Cas asked gently, and Dean nodded slowly. 

They shared them, following up with another round of coffee. Cas paid, and then they were off on the road again. 

Through the day they rode on, eastwards, following signs that pointed for Kansas City, where they stopped around midday. 

Cas checked them into some motel they found early in the afternoon Dean went in the room, crawling in the bed while Cas got their few bags from the car. No duffel again, Dean noticed as he looked up sheepishly at his traveling companion, or…whoever, whatever he was to Dean. Dean wasn’t too sure right now. 

 

“Are you comfortable?” Castiel asked awkwardly. 

“Does it matter?” Dean replied with his own question, shrugging. What he didn’t say but thought was that it didn’t, because no matter what he did his mind would never shut up. Sam. Sam was gone, that pain was never going to go away, whether he was in a king size bed with velvet sheets, or sitting on a bed of broken glass. Instead of voicing that, though, he moved over on the bed, looking to Cas for a moment. The only form of comfort he could begin to hope for was from Castiel, who met his eyes with a searching, sad gaze, nodding. 

Cas pulled off his shoes and lay down beside the hunter, who sighed, leaning in. Weariness overwhelmed Dean as he gave up on pushing back the thoughts and clawing loneliness. He gave in to the exhaustion, and reality began to fade from his mind.

 

Dean was asleep soon enough, snoring quietly in Castiel’s arms. Cas curled around him, letting himself drift off too. The night before had left both of them ill-rested, and neither had the energy for much else. 

 

*

 

Dean was running from the bunker, the threat of the oncoming curse that had been triggered close at his heels. Rowena had already been killed; he had had the satisfaction of shoving the angel blade through her chest himself while Cas held her in place, but she had laid one final trap for them without their knowledge. 

And Sam—Sammy was still inside, and it was coming down. 

“Sam!” Dean shouted, his voice hoarse as he raced through the shaking hallways, the plaster from the ceiling crumbling and landing at his feet in sprays of white dust. 

“Sam!” He choked on the dust again, wondering where the hell his brother was. He had to get out—they both did. 

He whirled about as a support beam collapsed, yelling to the man who was suddenly running behind him—Sam. He extended an arm, barely missing his brother’s fingertips as he reached. The beam hit the ground, his brother falling beneath it, pinned. 

Dean batted away dust and wrestled the scraps of ceiling and wall out of the way to get to his brother’s side. He gagged when he saw it in the dim beam of his flashlight. 

The metal of the support beam had sliced through Sam’s torso, blood pouring out. Dean knelt beside him, his hands pressed to the wound as if he could do anything, to make it stop, impervious to the structure around them that loudly announcing its intentions to come down around them. 

“Sam!” he screamed, and then someone else was beside him, grabbing the beam while he also helped, and together they threw it aside. Dean grabbed Sam’s arms Cas his feet. Like this, he and the former angel lifted his gravely wounded brother, who groaned as they carried him away, up the stairs, out into the glaring sunlight. 

They carried him as far as they could before lowering him to the ground. They collapsed beside him on the gravel, panting as the earth beneath them shook and the building holding the bunker before them fell. 

Dean cradled his little brother’s head in his hands, whispering, “Come on, Sammy. Hang on. Hang on—“ while he realized it was all for nothing. Sam’s eyes were drifting shut, and his shirt, formerly checked blue and green, was saturated with the dark pouring red of spilled blood. 

“Sam!” Dean snapped before yelling at Cas again, his voice raw and gusting out with every bit of pain he had ever felt, worse than the decades in Hell itself, it seemed. 

Sam’s breaths were rattling and shallow in the scant seconds while Dean grabbed his hands, tears pouring from his eyes as he kissed his dying brother on the forehead, murmuring, “Sammy. Don’t, don’t, I’ve gotcha, man, I’ve gotcha—“ 

Castiel knelt beside Dean in the gravel, which was now sticky with blood, putting a quiet hand on his shoulder. 

Dean shirked away, snapping at him, “Do something, goddamnit! What use is an angel without his fucking powers?!” 

 

“Do something!” Dean shouted again, shoving Cas roughly towards Sam, whose neck he probed at for a pulse, shaking his head slowly. 

“Dean…he’s—“ Cas’ voice was choked in his throat although Dean didn’t give him the chance to say the fatal words. 

 

“No—“ 

Dean woke up suddenly, the gravel and blood no longer before him; instead, he was in bed in the arms of Castiel, who was sitting up, shaking him gently. 

“Dean?” Cas’ words were gentle, quiet in his ear. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Dean only shook his head before he buried his face in his hands, physically shaking where he lay. 

Cas ran his fingers through Dean’s hair, soothing away the sweat that beaded there, sorrow in his face as he beheld the object of his love, so torn by memories of a few days previous he seemed nearly unable to bear the anguish. 

 

“I know it isn’t enough,” Castiel whispered, “But I'm here. I—I don’t want anything to happen to you, Dean. If I could change things, I would—“ 

 

Dean looked up slowly, shaking his head again. He gave Castiel such a look that the words froze in his lungs, croaking out, “I couldda saved him, Cas. I—“ 

“No, Dean. You did everything you could, there just wasn’t any more to be done.“ 

“You can’t know that,” Dean protested. 

“But I do. I—I know you don’t believe it, because you can’t right now, but—Dean. I promise you, I am here, and I am with you.” 

 

Dean suddenly sputtered, beginning to try to pull away. “I—I shouldn’t be like this,” he blurted, earning a concerned look from Castiel, who reluctantly let go of the hunter as he turned to sit up. 

Castiel sat up beside him, his hand resting on Dean’s shoulder. 

“I know. It shouldn’t be,” Cas murmured. 

Dean scoffed bitterly at this. “But it is. It fucking is…” 

 

*  
Castiel stood, stretching wearily. He went over to the window of their room, noticing the setting sun. He beckoned Dean over, who mumbled impassively as he pulled aside the curtains.

“What?” Dean asked flatly.

“The sun. Look, it’s…beautiful,” Cas said softly. 

Dean tilted his head, looking at it before grunting with dismissal. 

“Yeah, maybe,” he muttered. 

“You’ll be able to see the beauty again, Dean,” Castiel insisted quietly. 

Dean shrugged, leaning into Cas again. 

If it hadn’t been so perfectly quiet, Castiel would have missed what he said next. 

“I hope so.” 

 

*

Some time after the sun set, Castiel succeeded in cajoling Dean into going to get something to eat at the bar/grill around the corner. 

They were seated at a table in the corner, away from the louder area of the crowd.

When the waiter asked their drink orders, Dean replied with, “ Jack Daniel’s.”

“Dean, I don’t think—“

“You don’t think what?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Cas replied in a low voice. 

“Fine.” He snorted. 

“Two Coore’s for us,” Cas ordered for him. 

Dean gave him a look, but that was it. 

Dean had a burger and fries, which much to Castiel’s relief, he finally acted interested in. The burger and fries were gone quickly, the beer even more so. 

At his third one, Castiel shifted, muttering something about being tired. 

They paid and were out walking back to their room soon afterwards. Dean got the annoyed feeling that Cas was trying to keep him from drinking much more, but when they went inside, the sorrow hit him again and Dean couldn’t dwell on that much longer.

 

Cas stripped to his boxers and t-shirt and sat down on the bed, drawing Dean in close. They lounged side by side on the pillows for a few minutes, heartbeats and breathing close enough to be felt by the other.

“I love you, Dean,” he whispered, and Dean hummed quietly at that, nestling his head in the crook of Cas’ arm, trying to push back the awfulness that threatened to take over his mind again. The thoughts were there, the darkness was there, but it was less overwhelming with Cas all around him, holding him in place so even when his mind was gone, he couldn’t be but so lost because physically Castiel still held him, still there ready to pull him back. 

 

“I’m sorry I said that shit this morning, Cas,” Dean murmured. “I…shouldn’t have forced you to tell me like I did. That threat, it was all so fucking wrong of me.” 

“It’s fine. I, ah, don’t put much stock in the idea things are fated, knowing what I have known, and doing what I have done, but…I’m glad you did.” 

 

“Well then that makes two of us. I—as long as I didn’t hurt you, I’m kind of glad I know. It was sorta gettin' awkward thinking I was the only...“ here Dean trailed off with his cheeks blushing magnificently. 

It was not hard for Castiel to piece together what the rest of that sentence would have been; the idea that Dean had been hiding his real feelings towards Cas all this time caused such a surge of attraction that he suddenly could not help but lean in to Dean, his lips meeting the hunter’s. He felt Dean’s mouth form a surprised, ‘oh,’ but then he leaned in, Castiel’s hands moving to rest easily on  
Dean’s shoulders, keeping him close. It seemed like Dean wanted more even as his heart reminded him of his guilt for acting on an assumption made spur of the moment that his feelings were mutual.

This was how Dean found himself for the second time that day kissing someone he’d never known to want him. But he couldn’t say he disliked it. There wasn’t the burn of passion; it was something far more careful and gentle, something Dean needed badly and wanted to drink in. 

Castiel pulled back after a few moments, sighing, an apology on his lips.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do this,” he murmured, flushing. 

 

“Cas? It’s OK,” Dean said, stroking the scruff that sprouted at Cas’ jawline with his thumb. “What do you mean, you didn’t mean this? Coz you just kissed me, again.” His voice was soft, confused but calm. 

A slow, small smile crossed Castiel’s face hearing this.

“Of course I meant it. In retrospect, I wasn’t sure if you, ah, felt the same.” 

 

“I dunno, but, I like having you with me,” Dean replied. 

 

Dean spent the better part of the night sleepless, the thoughts worming their way back in deeper and deeper. Whenever he thought he had shaken them off, the dove back into his consciousness, biting and burning and whipping him however he tried to twist and get away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas have been on the road for a few days, when Dean does something that terrifies Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is one I haven't been too sure about posting for awhile. I've had it but been sitting on it, editing it, etc. I've also had a lot going on IRL (I know, lame excuses for not updating, right?) Anyway, in this chapter, Dean does some awful and manipulative shit to Cas. If you're sensitive to this please bear that in mind when deciding to read. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

The next day they worked their way east to St. Louis, stopping to gaze up at the arch in the sun, for once traveling not at the breakneck pace that was typical of them when on hunting trips, but at a more leisurely, reflective rate. Dean spent a lot of time staring out the window, Cas at the wheel, a lot of time thinking. 

He thought of the brother who should be the one in the seat he sat in. He raked through decades of memories, good and bad. Sam’s smile, his laugh, the sheer relief at hearing him breathe again after the first time brought him back. 

It hurt, god did it ever. But then he looked over at Castiel in the driver’s seat, and reminded himself why he couldn’t end it, why he couldn’t give in. For one, Cas probably wouldn’t let him. For another, the guilt at the idea of dragging Castiel into the same hell he currently occupied was enough to counterweigh the pain, leaving him in a mental stalemate. As he considered Castiel, his thoughts turned to the odd nature of the relationship they shared. Had Cas really loved him all this time? How had he been so oblivious? Thinking back, he realized vaguely, there had been…something…some forbidden intrigue about the angel he had fought viciously to dispel, inconvenient arousal he had suppressed. But now that he was left high and dry by the floods of emotion, nakedly vulnerable, he had finally forced Castiel to let the truth out. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it but the newness and strangeness, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Just…different. 

The undercurrents of uncertainty and grief carried him through the day, but at night when he lay down, Cas was beside him. When he woke from nightmares, when he needed to be held, Cas was there. And slowly, bit by bit, the hours wore on, and with them, the agonizing pain fluctuated wildly. It was like being at sea in a typhoon; Dean never knew when the next wave would hit him. But through it all, there was Cas. He held on for dear life. 

It was four days into traveling like this that Cas left Dean alone in their motel room for the first time. Dean had insisted that he was OK. He had said he was well enough and that Cas deserved a little bit of time apart from worrying about him.

But when Cas had left, a scant ten minutes into his absence, the pressure building all around Dean told him he’d been horribly wrong. He rolled off the bed he’d been lying on, turned off the ballgame that he hadn’t really been watching to start with, and paced the floor. Restlessness seeped from every atom of his being, agitation and pain threatening to come pouring out. 

The room felt like it was closing in around him, the same dusty bedside table, the same damn blank stretch of wall, the same suffocating speckled ceiling—he had to get out. Out, out, out. He threw on his shoes and tore open the door, walking with a purpose like he knew where he was going, although the truth was he had no idea whatsoever. Going, going was all that mattered, because if he didn’t go, he was going to drown in this.

When Castiel returned with their food in hand, he opened the door to see an empty room. 

“Dean?” He called hesitantly. 

So began an night of desperately looking for the man he had spent the past eight years of his life for. Who he had pulled from Hell, who he had given up his position in Heaven for, who he had done everything for. 

And now he was gone. Cas fought off images of Dean lying cold on the ground, fought the images of the various wounds he might have self-inflicted. 

He had thought he would be alright for half an hour. He’d clearly been wrong. 

How could Dean do this to him? That pain sat deep in his chest below the panic while he searched.

He went around town, checking bars, checking hangout areas, asking drunks, party-goers, drug users, locals and drifters alike desperately if they’d seen him. He had one of Dean’s fake IDs that he showed to people begging if they’d seen him. 

 

“Have you seen him?” Castiel asked breathless for the thirtieth time that hour. 

The woman he presented the ID to laughed. “Who is he to ya, anyways?” She seemed to spit the words, derision dripping from them.

“Have you seen him?” Castiel reiterated, desperation in his voice.

“Nah. Good luck finding your boyfriend, stalker,” she flipped him off as he walked away, his heart landing in his stomach.

 

He drifted along the sidewalk from the party spot outside the warehouse towards a bar a block or two up the way.

He approached the door, cutting in line. A bouncer the size of a line-backer grabbed him by the shoulder. 

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” He snapped, frowning at Castiel to get back in place at the end.

“Apologies, I have a question. I’m looking for my friend,” he told the bouncer at the door of yet another bar. “Have you seen him?” He showed the picture again, expecting more laughter or scorn. 

“Yeah, actually, might have,” the man replied after a moment of consideration. 

“Thank you. Where did he go? Do you have any idea? How—how did he look—” Castiel blurted the questions, the bouncer raising his eyebrows. 

“Well, he was piss-drunk if that’s what you’re asking,” the man replied, shrugging. “He kind of made a scene, told him and some other folks to get lost.”

 

“Where did he go? Was someone with him when he left?” Cas pressed.

“I have no idea.” 

“The people who left at the same time—do you have any idea where they’d have gone?” He pleaded, desperation in his voice must have done something, because the man sighed, crossing his arms.

“Look, most I can tell ya, the group of people who left around the same time he did like to head over to the Spot nights like this. He didn’t strike me as that type, though.” 

“Thank you,” Cas breathed, beginning to turn away.

“Look, what’s the deal, anyways? You some sorta possessive boyfriend?” 

“I need to find him before he does something he would regret,” Castiel breathed, shaking his head. 

“He’s probably out getting good and sloshed, like everybody else is this time of night. Now either get lost or get back in line, I’ve got a business to run.”

 

Castiel nodded his thanks again before heading over to the bar the man had mentioned. Dean might have gone…? It seemed like a long shot, Dean taking up with a group of random people, but at this point he was grasping at straws. 

After going in and scouring the place, he realized it was useless; Dean was not there . He continued on past the next gathering point other partygoers indicated to him, but no one recognized Dean. Some laughed, some hooted at him telling him to go away, and yet others shook their heads. A few people threatened to call the cops if he didn’t leave.

So around midnight, dejected, he retreated to the motel room. 

 

He ate the long-cold food, staring at the screen of the flickering tv absently until he began to drift off from the exhaustion. 

 

He awoke to the sound of the door opening. 

“Dean?” He called, scrambling to his feet as he recognized the figure who stumbled through the door.

 

“Where the fuck have you been?!” Castiel snapped, grabbing the staggering man under the arms. 

“Where y’ think?” Dean laughed, a hollow, awful laugh that made the anger fall from Castiel’s mind. Castiel let go of him as he moved to sit on one of the beds, disgust twisting his features. 

“An’ speakin’ of fuck,” Dean gave a sickening grin, “You wanna, Cas?” And Dean began unbuttoning his outer shirt, shucked it off, and started pulling his undershirt over his head, while all Castiel could do was watch in shock. “I really need to feel somethin’, Cas. There’s nothing in here. Not a goddamn thing. An’ if you love me you’ve wanted a piece of my ass for a while, right? It’ll help me, Cas, it’s all gray and dark and shit. So fucking dark. Make me feel something.” 

 

“What? Dean—“ Castiel took a step back as Dean began pulling off one of his boots, too, staring aghast at the floor as clods of dried mud coming free as they hit the carpet. Mud, he didn’t care about mud, but he still couldn't find words as he stared at the dirt Dean shed, trying not to look at Dean, who was very slowly, very deliberately undressing himself while lounging on the bed in front of him. 

The twistedness of the scene wasn’t lost on him. He’d imagined Dean undressing for him in fantasies so many times over, long before he’d confessed to Dean how he felt. But now, now he regretted it. Why had he told him, if he had just been setting them up for this? 

“If you cared you—you’d fuck me, Cas,” Dean said. “If you actually fucking gave a shit about me.” 

 

“No, Dean--” The word came out hard and fraught, and Castiel couldn't have stopped it from sounding that way even if he’d wanted to. And right now he didn’t even care to try. How could Dean do this? 

“See? I knew you didn’t care. You pity me, you sad bastard. You pity me because I lost the only fucking person who ever cared. And you…you want to care but you’re a fucking loser, Castiel. You latched onto me because I’m so broken without Sammy. That’s all it ever is, isn’t it! So what does it matter? Get up here. Blow me, get inside me, have me blow you, I don’t care—do something.“

“No. Dean, stop.” Castiel shouted now, kicking Dean’s boots away under the bed. “Stop it!”

“Fine Cas. I’ll go to sleep alone again, and so will you. For the rest of our miserable goddamn lives.” 

“No. You won’t,” Cas murmured so low he didn’t know if Dean could hear him. “If you would look at what you’re doing, Dean, you’d know why you cannot fuck me, or anyone else tonight.”

Dean grunted in disagreement as he began to pull off his boxers too, but Castiel grabbed his arm.

“Please stop.” He said again, this time quietly, as Dean jerked his hand away from the former angel’s grasp. He grunted his displeasure at Castiel’s intrusion, and perhaps out of sheer spite, continued to undress.

“Fine. I knew you didn’t give a shit about me,” Dean grumbled, dragging pillows around on the bed as he shoved the underwear he’d shed off the bed to the floor. 

“No. Never do this again,” he reprimanded, as Dean still floundered about, getting comfortable. 

“You don’t give a fuck,” Dean grumbled, “And neither do I. I should jus—“

“Be quiet.” Cas snapped. “Just…be quiet.” 

 

“I don’ give a shihh what you wann, Cas,” Dean slurred as he rolled over, sleep apparently overruling his inclination to continue his outburst. 

 

“Of course you don’t,” Castiel murmured, the anger and pain burning in his veins. Why Dean? Why his Dean? 

Castiel locked the door and double checked he had the keys to the Impala, where their weapons were secured, because he couldn’t leave them in the room with Dean. Then he went to the bathroom, and locked himself in. He began to sob as he sat on the lowered lid of the toilet, shut away from Dean in the one area of their miserable little room that he could be alone. And Dean, even if Dean heard, he wouldn’t care. That was what hurt the most. 

*

 

That morning, Castiel woke up first. He sat up in his bed, watching Dean sleep for a moment before he turned on the tv. He was just numb right now. He needed something, anything to permeate it. If it was the mundaneness of the local weather forecasters making bad jokes with each other on air, or the starkness of human horror of people dead from a fire or car crash, well, that didn’t matter. He just needed something. Anything besides Dean. 

Dean heard something cloying in his ears, the sound of laughter and the jingle of an annoying, oft-played commercial. He groaned as he came to full consciousness, his head throbbing. He was alone in bed. As he opened his eyes, the too-bright light coming in through the window made him squirm. He started to panic then he looked across from him at the other bed and saw Cas sitting up, staring resolutely at the tv like some sort of statue. A statue, or a zombie. 

“Cas?” Dean called hesitantly, although the former angel didn’t react.

Groaning heavily, Dean moved around a little, sitting up. As the sheets slid back, he looked down to realize he was entirely naked. He stole a glance over at Cas, who was dressed in an old tshirt and the pajama shorts that he slept in. 

Horror began to dawn on Dean as he thought back to the night before, which all he could tell at the moment was a haze of cheap whiskey and shots and an alarming lack of women. He was naked. Cas was not. He was in bed alone, Cas in the other ignoring him like he didn’t even exist. 

What the fuck had he done to Cas now?

“Cas?” Dean asked again, clearing his throat as bile threatened to come up. Nope. This was not gonna work—he heaved himself up off the bed and ran to the toilet just in time for the contents of his stomach to come pouring out. 

 

Between his own retches, he could have sworn he heard Castiel bark out a single, bitter laugh. 

 

When he had finished spilling his guts over the toilet, Dean washed his mouth out at the sink and went back into the main room.

 

“Cas…” He mumbled, acutely aware that he was stark naked in the middle of their room, his head pounding, “What happened last night?” 

“Oh, because you don’t remember?” Castiel asked, his tone bitter and hurt. Dean flinched. 

“No, I don’t, but I get the feeling it wasn’t good.” He said. 

“Not good? Do you remember that you left yesterday afternoon while I was out getting supper without saying a word to me? You didn’t even leave a fucking note, Dean. And you didn’t come back until 2 AM. Do you remember what you did then?!” Cas snapped, shaking, Dean realized, with rage. His fists were clenched around the remote in his hand, 

 

Dean thought, really, thought, and with a sinking feeling, realized just what had happened. 

 

He had…oh, oh shit. As it came back, he remembered vague snatches of what had been said, and wished he just hadn’t. His headache was compounded only a thousand times over, the sinking in his gut making him feel like vomiting all over again.

“Oh my god. I’m sorry, Cas, I—I never meant to—“

 

“I don’t want to hear that. I don’t want sorry, Dean. Sorry is not enough. If you make a habit of this, I am gone. You get to choose, and I truly hope you don’t choose overindulgence over me.” 

Castiel said stiffly, hoping, praying although he didn’t even know to what or who at this point, that Dean did not force him to make that choice on whether to follow through on the threat. If he had to decide between leaving or staying and watching Dean slowly self-destruct…he couldn’t. He steepled his fingers, pressing them under his nose while Dean digested what he’d just heard. 

 

“You—you deserve better,” Dean mumbled, misery apparent in his face when Castiel finally looked up. “I—I won’t. I—I can’t do it on my own. I’m sorry. I need you.” Dean was so contrite, so desperate-sounding, Castiel almost regretted what he’d said. Almost. But it had to be done. He didn’t know what else he could do. 

 

“What do you want, what will help?” Castiel asked. “I want to be here for you, but things like what happened last night, I cannot deal with. I can’t help you if you drown yourself in alcohol. Tell me what you need. Tell me, and I’ll make it happen.” 

 

“I—I dunno, Cas,” Dean managed the words as he sat down beside the former angel, who frowned at his nakedness before pulling him closer with an arm around his shoulders. 

“Alright. We’ll figure it out. But…to start with, can you try to tell me when you’re starting to feel overwhelmed?” 

 

“I’ll try,” Dean nodded. “I—I’ll try, Cas.” 

 

“Good. Now, please get dressed,” Castiel said, shaking his head. 

 

“That, I think I can do,” Dean said with a wry smile. Castiel clapped him on the shoulder good-naturedly, relief flooding him. For the first time in over 12 hours he felt like he could breathe again. 

 

Dean came back from showering dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, while Cas was still lying in the bed, watching the news. 

He smiled when Dean came back in the room. 

 

“Sit,” Cas said, motioning to the bed beside him. Dean noticed he had moved over, making room. Not entirely sure he deserved it, Dean decided to take Cas up on the offer anyway, because he still felt pretty awful physically. 

He sat down, propping his feet up in front of him. “What’s up?” Dean asked hesitantly. 

“I missed having you beside me last night,” Castiel said, wrapping an arm around Dean’s shoulders. Dean couldn't help but lean into him. He didn’t deserve this man, or his forgiveness, he didn’t deserve anything at all from him. Not after what he was putting him through, not after what he’d done to him the night before. 

 

“I do love you, Dean. So much. That’s why I couldn’t take advantage of you last night. It would have been wrong, and I don't think we're ready yet.” 

“Y-yeah,” Dean groaned as Cas kneaded his shoulder, which was stiff from how he’d slept. “I’ve treated you like shit. I—I need to do better,” Dean agreed.

“If you ever think I don’t love you,” Cas continued quietly, “I have always loved you and always will. Your soul itself, when I first saw it, was the most beautiful thing. Even though I can’t see your soul anymore, I know it’s there. I see it when you smile. I see your joy, your pain, and in the form of your body. You’re beautiful, in every way. I want you to be happy, Dean. I want you to know I care, even when it’s hard. But I am here, and there’s nowhere I’d rather be.”


End file.
